Seven Times Hermione Wanted to Snog Ron Senseless
by Chocoholic Bec
Summary: Full title: Seven Times Hermione Wanted to Snog Ron Senseless, and One Time She Did. Eight canon moments - plus some non-canon bits, but I've tried to make it realistic - third-person, R/H and some H/G in some of the later chapters. Enjoy! T just in case.
1. The First Time

Author's Note: Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Ronald Weasley, and all the other Potterverse characters do not belong to me

_Author's Note: Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Ronald Weasley, and all the other Potterverse characters do not belong to me! (Unfortunately)_

The first time Hermione wanted to snog Ron senseless was after he'd been felled by the White Queen, when she was twelve. Or, more to the point, she wanted to snog him sense-_ful _– and yes, she knew that wasn't a word.

It happened when she ran over to Ron, after she'd left Harry in the room with the fire and the bottles, and she had to force herself into not screaming his name and holding his body to hers. She touched his chest with a hand that shook, trying to feel his heart beating, _don't be dead, Ron, please don't be dead_, and felt a steady beat.

She exhaled the breath she'd been holding and peeled back an eyelid as she'd seen her dad do once at the dental practice - a patient had collapsed and she'd been sitting in a corner doing homework. She'd asked him about it later, and he said how he'd been checking that the eye was responding to light, because if the brain was injured, like in a concussion, the pupil would not shrink.

Hermione decided his brain was fine, though – well, as fine as a boy's brain could _ever_ be – when she noticed the pupil contract at the light, and tried shaking his shoulders to bring him round. "Ron? Ron, can you hear me? Ron, wake up!" He didn't so much as move and she let his shoulders go, feeling that it wasn't doing any good. "Ron! Please, Ron, wake up!"

She was halfway to sobbing when she noticed his lips, slightly parted, as if he'd been frozen while saying something, and she half-wondered, _if I were to kiss him, would he wake up then?_ She stopped the idea before it fully formed – she was not, _could _not like Ron in that way, he was her friend, her best friend, and anyway, she was only twelve.

She shook his shoulders again. "Ron, for goodness' sake, wake up!" she screamed at him.

He twitched slightly at the sound, before opening his eyes slightly and squinting at her. "'Mione?' he slurred. 'Where's Harry? What's going on?"

She stood up, holding out her hand so she could help him up, and refused to acknowledge the sensation of having spangles in her fingers as he grasped her hand. "I'll tell you on the way. C'mon, we have to hurry!" She tugged his arm around her shoulder and put hers around his waist, noticing that he pulled away from her. "Ron, what the hell is wrong?" She didn't usually swear, but this was an emergency, and it was obvious that he couldn't walk without help.

He shuffled his feet slightly. "Well… y'know… you're a _girl_."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "For goodness' sake, Ron, we haven't got time to worry about girl germs! C'mon, we'd better hurry." He shrugged in reply, and put his arm back around her shoulder.

They walked, her supporting him, out of the Chess Room, and Hermione tried to forget the thoughts – thoughts both wonderful and terrifying – that she'd had about him while he was unconscious.

And she did.

(Mostly.


	2. The Second Time

_Author's Note: Still not mine._

The second time Hermione wanted to snog Ron senseless was in her second year, when he defended her against Malfoy's cruel taunts, only to end up belching slugs.

According to Ron, he had woken up on Saturday morning, and had rolled over to talk to Harry, only to find him gone and a scribbled note saying,

"Hi Ron, got Quidditch practice, see you later, Harry."

Ron had run down the spiral staircase, literally bumping into Hermione, who was carrying about twenty books in her arms. The books went flying and both of them had ended up on the floor.

"Sorry," groaned Ron. "D'you want a hand?" He didn't wait for a response, but had just started picking up books.

Once the books were back in Hermione's arms, she put them on a couch by the fire and turned to Ron. "So why did you come downstairs in such a hurry? Isn't it about three hours before you usually wake up on Saturdays?"

"Ha, ha," said Ron, sounding bored. "No, just Harry's got Quidditch practice and I thought I'd get something to eat and watch. D'you want to come?"

"Yeah, sure," said Hermione, "if I can bring a book."

"That's not the point of Quidditch! You're meant to watch it, not ignore it!" He stopped when Hermione glared at him. "Yeah, fine, bring a book; I know you're not one for Quidditch."

They had walked down to the Great Hall, where there were barely any students, as it was barely seven in the morning. Amongst those who were down there were Justin Finch-Fletchley, Ernie MacMillan, Susan Bones and Hannah Abbott, all of whom – according to Ron – were looking "disgustingly cheerful for this time of morning."

Hermione grabbed a napkin and shoved approximately ten pieces of toast with marmalade into it. "C'mon! They'll have started!"

Ron, who had been looking with interest at some bacon, turned around. "Okay, whatever." They walked up to the Quidditch pitch together, noticing that Harry and the rest of the team were only just walking out of the changing room. "Haven't you finished yet?" yelled Ron.

"Only just started," replied Harry, who had shadows under his eyes. "Wood's been teaching us new moves."

Ron shook his head incredulously, but Harry had already turned away and mounted his broom. Ron shrugged and turned to Hermione. "Can I have some toast?"

"Sure," replied Hermione, already engrossed in her book, which, Ron noticed with disgust, was _Gadding with Ghouls_.

Two minutes later, after demolishing three pieces of toast, Ron looked up to notice seven green figures walking onto the pitch. "Oh, I don't believe this," Ron muttered, jabbing Hermione.

Hermione, about to yell at Ron for interrupting her, noticed where he was pointing and got distracted. "The Slytherin team? What are they doing here?"

"I don't know," said Ron grimly, "but I think we ought to find out. The other Gryffindors seem to be." They had both heard the yelling coming from their team, although they were too far away to hear exactly what was being said.

By the time they got close enough to see exactly what was going on, Harry was holding his broom, looking shell-shocked, and Malfoy –_Malfoy_ – was standing in front of him, wearing green Quidditch robes, smirking and holding a broom that looked even newer than Harry's.

"Oh, look," they heard Flint say. "A pitch invasion." Both teams turned to look at Ron walking up to them, and Hermione jogging behind – her legs weren't long enough to keep up with Ron without running – and trying to stop her mountain of toast from falling onto the grass.

"What's happening?" Ron asked Harry. "Why aren't you playing? And what's _he_ doing here?" He pointed at Malfoy, a smirk spread across his pointed features.

"I'm the new Slytherin seeker, Weasley," said Malfoy, sounding smugger than ever. "Everyone's just been admiring the brooms my father's bought our team."

Ron stared at them, open-mouthed.

"Good, aren't they?" said Malfoy. "But perhaps the Gryffindor team will be able to raise some gold and get new brooms too. You could raffle off those Cleansweep Fives; I expect a museum would bid for them." The Slytherin team guffawed loudly.

Hermione was furious. "At least no one on the Gryffindor team had to _buy _their way in," she said with a scowl. "They got in on pure talent."

Malfoy glared at her. "No one asked _your _opinion, you filthy little Mudblood," he hissed.

There was instant uproar. Alicia Bell shrieked, "How _dare _you?" Fred and George tried to attack Malfoy, most of the Slytherin team rolled about laughing, and Ron pulled out his wand, shouting, "You'll pay for that one, Malfoy!" , sending a green jet of light out of the wrong end of his wand, which hit him in the stomach. He fell over.

"Ron! Ron! Are you alright?" squealed Hermione, kneeling beside him, then jumping back as he burped loudly and several slugs fell out of his mouth. The Slytherin team, by this time, were laughing so hard that they could barely stand up.

The Gryffindors crowded around Ron, but nobody touched him. "We'd better get him to Hagrid, it's nearest," said Harry to Hermione, who nodded, and the two of them pulled him up by the arms.

A small boy with a camera ran down from the stands and danced around Harry. "What happened, Harry? What happened? Is he ill? But you can cure him, can't you?" he squealed. Then, as Ron heaved again, he squeaked happily, "Oooh! Can you hold him still, Harry?" He brandished his camera like a pitchfork, and Hermione felt shocked that this small boy seemed to be some sort of Hogwarts paparazzi.

"Get out of the way, Colin!" said Harry angrily. Colin dropped back, looking disappointed.

The two of them supported Ron, who could barely stand, along to Hagrid's cabin. "Nearly there, Ron," said Hermione, sounding worried. "You'll be all right in a minute… almost there…"

The front door opened when they were almost at the cabin, but instead of Hagrid exiting, it was Gilderoy Lockhart. Hermione half-wanted to stay and talk to him, but Harry dragged her behind a bush, hissing "Quick, behind here."

_Lockhart sounds… patronising_, thought Hermione, shocked, as she heard him say loudly and slowly to Hagrid, "It's a simple matter if you know what you're doing! If you need help, you know where I am! I'll let you have a copy of my book – I'm surprised you haven't already got one. I'll sign one tonight and send it over. Well, bye!"

They waited until Lockhart had walked back to the castle, humming –_out of tune_, thought Hermione, even more shocked – before dragging Ron up to Hagrid's hut. They knocked loudly.

Hagrid looked grumpy when he appeared at the door, but his expression brightened as he saw Ron, Harry and Hermione standing there – well, Harry and Hermione standing, and supporting Ron between them. "Bin wonderin' when you'd come ter see me," he said cheerfully. "Come in, come in – thought you mighta bin Professor Lockhart back again." Harry and Hermione walked in, still supporting Ron, and when Hermione let go, Harry lowered Ron into a giant-sized chair. "Better out than in," said Hagrid, putting a large copper basin in front of Ron. "Get 'em all up, Ron."

Hermione tapped her fingers against the table, feeling very anxious. "I don't think there's anything to do except wait for it to stop," she said. "That's a difficult curse to work at the best of times, but with a broken wand…" She winced as Ron retched again.

"What did Lockhart want with you, Hagrid?" asked Harry.

"Givin' me advice on getting' kelpies out of a well, like I don' know. An' bangin' on about some Banshee he banished. If one word of it was true, I'll eat my kettle," Hagrid grumbled, moving a dead rooster off his table and putting down a teapot.

Both Harry and Hermione looked at Hagrid, surprised. _Of course it's true_, thought Hermione. _Why would he lie about something like that? But it really is unlike Hagrid to criticise a teacher…_ She stopped that thought. "I think you're being a bit unfair," she said instead. "Professor Dumbledore obviously thought he was the best man for the job–"

"He was the _on'y_ man for the job," interrupted Hagrid, offering them some fudge. "An' I mean the _on'y _one. Gettin' very difficult ter find anyone fer the Dark Arts job. People aren't too keen ter take it on, see. They're startin' ter think it's jinxed. No one's lasted long fer a while now." He stopped, and Hermione thought about what he said. _Is Lockhart really brave? Qualified for the job? Or is he just foolhardy?_ She shook her head, trying to shake her thoughts out of it. Hagrid was talking again.

"So tell me," said Hagrid, jerking his head towards Ron, "who was he trying to curse?"

Harry hesitated slightly, before saying, "Malfoy called Hermione something. It must've been really bad, because everyone went mad." Hermione nodded in agreement.

Ron lifted his head, looking very pale. "It _was _bad," he said. "Malfoy called her 'Mudblood', Hagrid–" He was cut off by another slug attack.

Hagrid looked furious. "He didn't," he growled.

Hermione thought she ought to say something. "He did. But I don't know what it means," she said eventually. "I could tell it was really rude, of course…"

Ron came back up, gasping. "It's about the most insulting thing he could think of," he said quietly. "Mudblood's a really foul name for someone who was Muggle-born – you know, non-magic parents. There are some wizards – like Malfoy's family – who think they're better than everyone else because they're what people call pure-blood." He burped, and a single slug fell out of his mouth. He threw it into the basin before continuing. "I mean, the rest of us know it doesn't make any difference at all. Look at Neville Longbottom – he's pure-blood and he can hardly stand a cauldron the right way up."

Hermione blushed as Hagrid said, "An' they haven't invented a spell out Hermione can't do!"

Ron wiped his forehead. "It's a disgusting thing to call someone," he said. "Dirty blood, see. Common blood. It's mad. Most wizards these days are half-blood anyway. If we hadn't married Muggles we'd've died out." He retched again and leaned over the basin.

Hermione was horrified. That one group of wizards believed that they were better than another group, just because they had wizard parents and the other group didn't! It reminded her of learning about the Holocaust at school, where, just because people were different – they believed different things, or they looked different – they were killed or forced to be slaves. _I didn't think things like that happened any more_, she thought, before shutting up her brain so she could listen to Hagrid.

"Well, I don' blame yeh for tryin' to curse him, Ron," said Hagrid loudly. "Bu' maybe it was a good thing yer wand backfired. 'Spect Lucius Malfoy would've come marchin' up ter school if yeh'd cursed his son. Least yer not in trouble."

Hermione noticed that Harry seemed to be trying to say something, but it looked like he couldn't move his jaws. About to laugh, she stopped herself, and took a piece of fudge from the plate on the table.

She half-wished she could kiss Ron. Certainly, Lockhart was very, well, _pretty_, but honestly, the only reason she liked him at all was that he was handsome and brave, at least according to his books. Ron might not be exactly handsome, but he was certainly brave, and he was funny. She wished she could do _something _to thank him for sticking up to Malfoy for her, even though it meant he would belch up slugs for a couple of days. She wouldn't kiss him, though. Not only were slugs and slime dripping from his mouth, they were both only kids, and friends to boot, and she didn't like him like that, she'd _never_ like him like that, she wouldn't let herself.

_A kiss would suffice for a reward, though_, thought Hermione, remembering the stories from her childhood where the simple lad was rewarded with a kiss from the princess. She laughed – _me, a princess?_ – or at least she tried to. It seemed that Hagrid's treacle fudge had glued her jaws together.


	3. The Third Time

_Author's Note: Still not mine. Why are you still reading these?_

The third time Hermione wanted to snog Ron senseless was in her third year, after he'd promised to help her research laws concerning Hippogriffs and execution.

They hadn't talked since early February, not after Scabbers had disappeared. She'd been crying nearly every day since, into her pillow or in a toilet cubicle (although not actually _using _the loo, of course) or into Hagrid's stomach, as that was the highest place she could rest her head on his body. Lavender and Parvati, along with the rest of the girls in her dorm, although they tried to be sympathetic, simply weren't any help, as they all seemed to think that she and Harry were dating and had broken up, no matter how many times Hermione told them that she and Harry had _never _dated, nor did she even want to go out with him.

Nobody said anything about Ron to her until Hagrid had sent her a tear-stained scrap of paper saying that they'd lost the case and that Buckbeak was going to be executed, and Ginny found her crying in a corner of a little-used bathroom. (The reason that it was never used was that the door was hidden behind a large painting of a duck pond in the corridor leading to the Gryffindor common room, and almost nobody knew about it.) Ginny, although almost two years younger than Hermione, had always mothered her somewhat, and even more so at that moment. She sat down beside her, handed her a tissue from her bag, and patted her shoulder soothingly. Once Hermione had stopped crying properly and had got to the hiccupping stage, Ginny gently took the paper from Hermione's tightly clenched hands, and read it through.

Once she had finished, she looked at Hermione solemnly. "You know, you have to tell Ron and Harry about this."

"B-but I can't!" Hermione started sobbing again. "No matter what I say, no matter what I do, he just won't listen!"

Ginny nodded. "'He' being Ron?"

Hermione sniffled. "Of course. Harry's being completely insufferable too, of course, but Ron's the worst. He just won't back down! I've tried being reasonable, he just ignores me or yells at me and I don't know which is worse."

Ginny looked thoughtful. "Seems to me, you and Ron are pretty similar sometimes."

Hermione stared at her chewed fingernails with ink behind them, trying to understand what Ginny meant. Eventually, she gave up. "What are you talking about, Ginny?"

Ginny raised an eyebrow. "You're both ridiculously stubborn, for one thing. And you both seem to love your pets very much. But really, Hermione, have you ever realised that Crookshanks _might_ have eaten Scabbers? He's a cat, Hermione; that's what cats do."

Hermione dabbed at her eyes with the tissue she was still holding. "Y-yes, I know, but if I said to Ron that it's possible that Crookshanks ate Scabbers, all he'd say would be 'Yeah, I've been trying to tell you that! God, and you think you're smart!' and we'd stay in this stupid fight."

Ginny shook her head. "I don't think so. Ron's pretty upset too, you know, but he wants to be friends again. I'm his sister, I know these things." She shrugged.

Hermione was puzzled. "But if he wants to be friends again, why doesn't he just say so?"

Ginny smiled crookedly. "It's part of the mystery of boys. They want to appear macho, so they refuse to back down." She paused. "For a smart girl, you really can be silly sometimes."

Hermione rested her head on the smaller girl's shoulder. "Yeah, I know. But how am I supposed to know these things? You're the one who grew up with six brothers." She half-laughed.

Ginny smiled. "There, you're not crying anymore. Now, wash your face, and go give Ron and Harry that message. I promise, they do want to be your mate again."

Hermione sniffed once more before standing up. "Thanks, Ginny. You're a good friend."

Ginny smiled and stood up too. "That's okay, Hermione. You'd do the same for me, I'm sure of it."

Hermione nodded, and stepped into the corridor. Luckily, Harry and Ron were walking towards her, and she stopped in front of them, deciding to give them the message and scarper.

Ron, however, decided to get one of his cruel jibes in first. "Come to have a good gloat? Or have you just been to tell on us?"

Hermione had no clue what he was talking about, so she just said "No," before continuing with, "I just thought you ought to know… Hagrid lost his case. Buckbeak is going to be executed." She handed them the letter, trying not to cry.

"They can't do this. They can't. Buckbeak isn't dangerous!" said Harry, evidently distressed.

"Malfoy's dad frightened the committee into it, you know what he's like," replied Hermione, wiping her eyes with the now-sodden tissue. "They're a bunch of doddery old fools, and they were scared. There'll be an appeal, though, there always is." She couldn't help the single tear that fell from her eye. "Only I can't see any hope… nothing will have changed."

She went to turn away. Harry was staring at the letter as though he thought it might explode, and Ron was staring at her as though he thought _she _might explode. Nevertheless, it didn't seem they wanted to be friends again, until Ron said something that made her heart burst.

"Yeah, it will. You won't have to do all the work alone this time, Hermione. I'll help."

Hermione stared at his face, seeing the determined set of his mouth, and knew he meant what he said. She didn't know what to say or do in reply to such a definite display of friendship. Eventually, she managed to stammer out two words – "Oh, Ron!" – and buried her head in his chest, sobbing her heart out.

She couldn't help noticing the _feel _of him; the thumping of his heart, the hard ribs under his skin, the ever-present smell of boy and sweat and just, well, _Ron_. He patted her on the head, large hand so much gentler than it looked, with its calluses and ink blotches, and all she wanted to do was grab his hand and run her fingers through his hair and press her lips against his in desperate love – but she didn't, and she knew she wouldn't, not now, maybe not ever.

She drew away, cheeks scarlet – not just with the exertion of crying – and whimpered, "Ron, I'm really, really sorry about Scabbers…", trying not to throw herself back into his chest and cry even harder.

Ron looked relieved. "Oh – well – he was old, and he was a bit useless. You never know, Mum and Dad might get me an owl now."

They all laughed, sheepishly, and again, Hermione tried to thrust her thoughts into the back of her head, before they gave the password to the Fat Lady and walked into the common room together.


	4. The Fourth Time

_Author's Note: Not mine... blah blah blah..._

The fourth time Hermione wanted to snog Ron senseless was at the end of her fourth year, when he asked Victor Krum for his autograph.

He'd been a real pain about Victor, pretty much ever since the beginning of the Triwizard Tournament, and especially since the Yule Ball, and when Hermione had talked to Harry about it, he'd said he had a "good idea why," but wouldn't tell her what his "good idea" was.

Victor had kissed her at the Yule Ball, but only once. It wasn't much of a kiss, Hermione had thought at the time. It was pleasant enough, but not – well – passionate. She had never been a reader of romances, but she'd read enough to know that you're meant to see fireworks and hear bells and never ever want to let your lips be parted from theirs – but really, she didn't love Victor, or not in the way that Ron thought she did. To be perfectly honest, the only feelings she had for him were a nice kind of friendly feeling and a wish that he didn't love her, because she knew she didn't love him and he knew she didn't love him, and he was a nice young man (she'd almost laughed at that; she sounded like her mother) and she didn't want to hurt him.

She knew Ron had idolised him, at least at first, and she had no idea why he'd had this sudden turnaround in his feelings about Victor, although when Hermione had noticed Harry looking from Ron to Hermione and back again, with a slight smirk on his face, she was mortified to realise that he thought that she, well, liked Ron in _that way_. Of course she didn't, that was a ridiculous idea, and she told Harry as much on Boxing Day (before Ron had gotten up), after – and she was still embarrassed to remember this – she'd screamed at Ron "Next time there's a ball, ask me before someone else does, and not as a last resort!" and storming off to bed.

Harry had rolled his eyes, mumbling, "Yeah, okay, Hermione," and she'd been about to explain why his hypothesis was completely incorrect, when Ron walked down the stairs, yawning, clad in maroon paisley pyjamas that showed a lot of bony freckled ankle, last year's Weasley jumper (maroon, of course, with a bright yellow 'R' embroidered on it), his new – and painfully orange – Chudley Cannons cap, and a pair of ancient, falling-apart sneakers. Hermione shut her mouth very quickly, and Harry gave her a look that distinctly said, "Told you so."

Then it was the end of the year, and You-Know-Who had returned and killed Cedric Diggory, and although she'd cried she couldn't help being thankful that it was Cedric who'd died and not Harry.

And then while they were waiting for the horseless carriages to arrive, Victor had appeared and asked her, "Could I have a vord?"

Hermione was confused. "Oh… yes… all right," she said, and followed him through the crowd to the corner of the Entrance Hall.

He took her hands. Neither of them said anything for a minute, before Victor stated simply, as though he was talking about the weather, "Herm-own-ninny? You do not feel for me what I feel for you, I am certain."

Hermione shook her head. "No, Victor, and I'm sorry, I really am. You're a nice person, and I'd love to be friends with you, but I don't love you, not in that way."

Victor nodded, as though he'd been expecting this. "You love someone else, do you not?"

Hermione nodded, not trusting her voice.

Victor sighed. "You vill not visit me zis summer?"

Hermione smiled. "I think I might be a bit busy, I'm afraid." They both laughed awkwardly.

Victor let go of her hands and patted her shoulder in a brotherly way. "I must go, or the ship may leave without me." He hesitated before bending down and kissing her on the cheek. "I am sorry too, Herm-own-ninny. Vill you write to me?"

"Yes, of course I will," said Hermione. "What's your address?"

He handed her a piece of parchment with an address scribbled on it. "Zis is where I live."

Hermione hugged him around the middle. "We can at least be pen-pals, can't we? Now, come on, I thought you had to go." He nodded, and they set off through the crowd, back to where Ron and Harry were standing. Victor and Harry talked for a little while – about Cedric Diggory, mostly – but Hermione was looking at Ron, who was staring straight back at her. It had almost turned into a staring contest when Victor reached out his hand and shook Ron's, literally shaking him out of his stare. Victor turned to walk away, when Ron burst out with "Can I have your autograph?"

Hermione smiled and turned away, forcing herself not to basically jump on Ron and snog him for swallowing his pride and asking for something he wanted, even though he was embarrassed about it. Victor, while he looked surprised, signed a scrap of parchment for him, before waving to them all and walking to the ship.

Hermione turned back to Ron, who was staring at the parchment like he couldn't believe it was real. She put her hands on her hips. "There now, that wasn't so hard, was it?"

Ron looked at her in shock, about to say something along the lines of "Are you kidding?" before realising she was joking and laughing with her.

The three of them walked up to the nearest carriage (which already had Neville, Lavender and Parvati in it), Harry pushing Hermione to sit next to Ron. She glared at him, but took the seat happily.


	5. The Fifth Time

_Author's Note: Still not mine. Thanks for the review, silverbirch!_

The fifth time Hermione wanted to snog Ron senseless was in her fifth year, when he received that letter from Percy.

She had been so cross with him and Harry. _Don't they understand how important their OWL year is? _she'd asked herself as they sauntered off to play Quidditch for almost three hours. She'd been writing an essay for Professor Sprout on self-fertilising shrubs, and although by the time the two of them got back it was a foot longer than necessary, Hermione wanted to do a thorough a job as possible. She had just finished a long section on flowering shrubs that excrete through their roots when her stomach grumbled and she realised that she needed lunch. She rolled up the parchment she was using and went down to the Great Hall, where there was food all over the tables and Harry and Ron were sitting up the far end, discussing Quidditch, judging by their expansive arm movements – _like they haven't just been playing it half the day_, she thought sarcastically – but she didn't sit next to them, but across from them, so she'd have room to continue writing her essay while she was eating.

She piled her plate with a multitude of vegetables and meat, before sitting down and moving some platters so she could unroll her essay. Ron and Harry looked at her as though she was an alien. "'Mione," said Ron, and then swallowed a mouthful of food so he could talk without choking. "You're doing homework at lunch? You're nuts, mate."

Hermione glared at him. "In case you hadn't realised, if you two keep playing Quidditch when you should be studying, you won't get a single OWL!"

Harry rolled his eyes. "We'll do it tonight, Hermione. D'you really think we'd go a whole day without studying?"

"Yes, I do!" yelled Hermione, slamming her fist down on the table, nearly upsetting her ink and making two first years scream and scoot away from her. "You two are so irresponsible; it's a miracle you passed first year!" She rubbed her forehead, leaving an ink mark like frowning eyebrows.

Now Ron rolled his eyes. "We passed because you helped us, Hermione." He stopped, then looked at her hopefully. "Are you sure you won't–"

"Ron, I already told you, _no_! Haven't you listened? I am_not _going to help you this year!"

Ron slouched back in his seat, ears red. "Well, it was worth a try," he mumbled, to nobody in particular. He shoved a piece of ham in his mouth, as though to stop him saying anything more.

Harry pushed his plate away. "Ron, ready to go to Quidditch practice?"

"_QUIDDITCH PRACTICE?!_" Hermione shrieked, almost loudly enough to rupture the eardrums of everyone in the vicinity. This time, everyone from first years to seventh years screamed and scooted as far away as they could – some even grabbed food off the table and ran out of the Great Hall, evidently afraid she'd shout again. "_QUIDDITCH PRACTICE?!_" she screamed again."_RONALD BILIUS WEASLEY AND HARRY JAMES POTTER, YOU HAVE THREE ASSIGNMENTS TO DO! ARE YOU CRAZY?!_"

Both Ron and Harry, who were sitting closest to her, winced as she shrieked in their ears. "_YOU TWO ARE SO BLOODY IRRESPONSIBLE!_"

Ron shook his head like a dog shaking water from its fur. "Hermione, we'll do our homework tonight! It's important to relax, too! Now, for God's sake, put away your essay and eat properly. You'll never be able to do a good job on your Inanimals Conjured Spell – or whatever the hell it's called – without food for energy. Even Muggles know that!"

He pulled her assignment away from her. "Anyway, you've already done way over the set limit. This is ridiculous, Hermione – don't you ever have a break from all of this work?"

Hermione glared at him. "Yes, but I don't just have one _permanent_break, like you seem to!" She picked up her bag and a sandwich. "I'm going to go study in the common room," she said with a disdainful sniff.

Ron looked at Harry. "Barking mad, that one."

Harry nodded in agreement. "Now. Quidditch?"

The next day was Sunday, and Ron, Harry and Hermione were all sitting in the common room, doing their homework… well, Ron and Harry were, Hermione was knitting, reading and talking to Ginny, although – for some reason – neither she nor Ginny had gone outside to enjoy the autumn sunshine. Hermione, in fact, was looking unusually pale, and not from tiredness or shock, but from not getting enough light.

It was almost eleven before Ginny excused herself and went to bed. Hermione read for half an hour before yawning and going up to the boys. "Nearly done?" she asked, a yawn threatening to split her face in half.

"No," said Ron grouchily.

Hermione leant over his shoulder to see what he'd written. "Jupiter's biggest moon is Ganymede, not Callisto," she said. "And it's Io that's got the volcanoes."

Ron scratched out the sentences, but didn't look happy about it. "Thanks," he snarled at her.

"Sorry, I only–" said Hermione, but Ron cut her off.

"Yeah, well, if you've just come over here to criticise–"

"Ron–"

"I haven't got time to listen to a sermon, all right, Hermione, I'm up to my neck in it here–"

"No – look!" She pointed to the window, where a large screech owl was standing. "Isn't that Hermes?"

"Blimey, it is!" said Ron, putting down his quill. "What's Percy writing to me for?" He opened the window and Hermes flew inside, landing on Ron's essay. Ron took the letter off of its leg and the owl flew away, leaving inky footprints on Ron's essay.

"That's definitely Percy's handwriting," said Ron, staring at the address on the rolled-up parchment and sitting back in his chair. He looked up at Harry and Hermione, both of whom wanted to know what the letter said. "What d'you reckon?" he asked.

Hermione didn't hesitate. "Open it!" she said, and Harry nodded.

Ron read through the scroll, looking disgusted. Once he'd finished reading, he thrust the letter at Harry, who glanced at Hermione. She leant over his shoulder to read it.

When she finished reading, Hermione was shocked. That Ron's brother, who – although he had always seemed the least friendly of the Weasleys, had nevertheless been relatively nice – could say such horrible things about Harry, who had saved all of their lives countless times!

Harry forced a laugh. "Well, if you want to – er – what is it?" He checked the letter again. "Oh yeah – 'sever ties' with me, I swear I won't get violent."

"Give it back," said Ron. "He is the world's – biggest –_git­_," he said, tearing the letter up and throwing it into the fire.

Hermione, however, was barely listening.

Ron, she knew, was devoted to his family. But something she'd realised, as he'd torn up the letter, made her breath catch in her throat.

_He feels more brotherly towards Harry than towards Percy_, she thought, wishing for once that she had fewer inhibitions about her feelings – all she wanted to do, really, was kiss him so hard that neither of them could breathe, and throw her arms around his neck and never let go. But then he said something that made her feel even more surprised.

He pulled the Astronomy essay back towards him and tried to rub off Hermes' footprints. "Come one, we've got to get this finished sometime before dawn," he said.

_Ron, caring about his grades?_

"Oh, give them here," she said.

"What?" said Ron – after all, she'd been steadfastly refusing to even work with them.

"Give them to me, I'll look through them and correct them."

"Are you serious?" Ron rubbed his eyes. "Ah, Hermione, you're a lifesaver. What can I–?"

"What you can say," interrupted Hermione with a smile, "is 'We promise we'll never leave our homework this late again,'" holding out both hands for their essays.

After all, what else could she say to a boy who'd just willingly thrown something, that his brother wrote, in a fire to stick up for a friend?


	6. The Sixth Time

_Author's Note: Still not mine... do you really need this up here any more?_

The sixth time Hermione wanted to snog Ron senseless was when she was seventeen and in her sixth year, when he'd started going out with Lavender Brown.

She'd long since decided that it was just a crush that she had on him, and one day she'd fall in love with someone else and she'd forget that she had ever liked Ron. But now she was so jealous of her roommate that she had to accept that she really was in love with Ron.

However, she didn't.

_I'm just jealous because I want my friend back_, she decided. After all, they barely talked any more – he always had his tongue stuck down Lavender's throat.

She didn't know what had caused him to turn away from her, and she was upset about it. She'd tried to ask him to accompany her to the Slug Club (and it was a stupid name) Christmas party, and he'd half-accepted, but then, a few days later, he was giving her the cold shoulder again – he hadn't done that since about their fourth year, and this time she had no idea why.

She went to bed early that first night, and every night after, cross and miserable. Finally, the night before that fateful Quidditch game, Ron had gone to bed early (just as miserable as her – it seemed Quidditch practice hadn't gone well), she went up to Harry. "What the hell is wrong with Ron? Why won't he talk to me?"

Harry sighed, but it looked like he'd been expecting her to ask him. "He's cross with you 'cos… well, I don't know."

Hermione spluttered. "Yeah, you do! Why won't you tell me?"

Harry shrugged. "It's not something I can really explain."

Hermione sighed and rubbed her eyes. She didn't cry, but just took comfort in the warmth of her hands. Harry hugged her, but not like a boyfriend would, she knew – more like a brother. She leant her head against her chest. "Harry, I don't know what to do. He's driving me nuts!"

He sighed. "Same here. And he's doing so dreadfully at Quidditch, too, and if we lost tomorrow, I don't know what he'll do…"

Hermione pushed away from him. "Quidditch! Is that all you boys ever think about?" She ran up the stairs to her dorm, furious with both him and Ron, and was about to enter when she heard Lavender talking – probably to Parvati.

"He's just so dreamy!" Lavender said happily. "Mrs. Lavender Weasley… Mrs. Lavender Brown-Weasley… Mrs. Ronald Weasley…"

Hermione walked a bit higher, to the fifth-years' room. Fortunately, Ginny was there, reading _Quidditch Through the Ages_.

"Gin?" Hermione asked.

Ginny turned her head. "Hermione? What is it?"

Hermione sat on the edge of Ginny's bed, and let fall the tears that she'd been holding in all day. "Can I sleep here tonight? Only Lavender and Parvati are talking, and I just… can't take it."

Ginny put her book down and gave Hermione a hug. "Of course you can, 'Mione. D'you mind telling me what they were talking about?"

Hermione shook her head. "Lavender was talking about Ron. She likes him, Ginny! She was doing the name-thing, you know, 'Mrs. Lavender Weasley.'"

Ginny groaned. "Oh, you poor thing."

"What do you mean?" Hermione snapped. "It's just she was making lots of noise and I knew I'd never be able to get to sleep."

Ginny shook her head. "Merlin, Hermione, you're in love with my brother, don't you realise?"

"I'm not!" whimpered Hermione, but she knew it was a futile argument. "I can't be!"

Ginny laughed. "'Can't be' doesn't mean anything when you're in love, Hermione."

Hermione sniffled. "But it's not fair!"

Ginny laughed again, bitterly this time. "Nobody ever said that love had to be fair, Hermione."

They pulled a spare mattress out of Ginny's trunk – "Mum put an Undetectable Extension charm on it," – and made up a somewhat messy bed on the floor. All along, Hermione was thinking about what Ginny had said about love not being fair. She only understood once she'd Summoned her toothbrush and pyjamas and was brushing her teeth in the Gryffindor girls' bathroom.

"Gluh shee uh lurh wuh arruh, aryuh?"

Ginny looked at Hermione as if she'd sprouted an extra arm. "What?"

Hermione spat her toothpaste into the sink. "I said, 'You're still in love with Harry, aren't you?'"

Ginny paused, then nodded. "And it's not fair!" she cried, startling Arnold enough that he jumped off of her shoulder and hid behind a tap. She laughed. "Sorry, Arnold," and put him back on her shoulder, where he hummed happily. "Yeah, I guess I do still love Harry. I've given up on him ever loving me back, but I still love him. And I wish I didn't, because I do like Dean, just – not like that."

Hermione nodded. "Yeah, that was how I felt about Victor." She hugged Ginny awkwardly. "Things'll work out in the end, I promise." She went to the door. "Gin, I'm going to bed, all right?" She didn't wait for an answer, just walked back up the stairs to the fifth years' dormitory and lay down on her makeshift bed. _Harry loves Ginny too_, was the last thing she thought before going to sleep.

And then the next night she saw Lavender and Ron playing what was referred to in _Witch Weekly_ as "tonsil Quidditch", and she felt bile rise up in her throat and would have vomited if she'd eaten anything except a piece of toast that morning and she ran to the nearest classroom so she could be alone. She would have cried but the hurt she was feeling was too deep inside to come to the surface as tears. She waved her wand, conjuring several yellow canaries out of thin air. The door creaked as Harry came in, looking worried.

"Oh, hello, Harry," she said. "I was just practicing." She ignored what he said next – some stammering about how her canaries were really good – and said in a high-pitched voice, "Ron seems to be enjoying the celebrations."

Harry looked even more worried. "Er… does he?"

"Don't pretend you didn't see him! He wasn't exactly hiding, it was–" She was interrupted by the door slamming open, Ron laughing and pulling Lavender in.

"Oh," he said, stopping as he saw Hermione.

Lavender said, "Oops," and backed out of the room, giggling as she shut the door.

Hermione stared at Ron, silently pleading with him to tell her that it was all a big mistake, but he wouldn't meet her eyes. "Hi, Harry!" he said instead. "Wondered where you'd got to!"

Hermione got off the desk. With as much dignity as she could muster, she said quietly, "You shouldn't leave Lavender waiting outside. She'll wonder where you've gone." She walked slowly towards the door, then turned around and shrieked, "_Oppugno_!" Her flock of birds shot towards Ron, pecking and clawing at him.

"Gerremoffme!" he yelped, but Hermione, sobbing, ran out of the door with one last, furious look at Ron. She ignored Lavender, who was staring at her with a mixture of confusion and relief, screamed the password at the Fat Lady (who said, offended, "Well, you needn't be so rude, young lady!") and, in the general confusion of the party, ran up to Ginny's dorm. She couldn't, couldn't sleep in her dorm tonight.

She dragged the mattress she'd slept on last night out from Ginny's trunk, not bothering to change into pyjamas or brush her teeth, and sobbed into a pillow. "It's not fair! It's not fair!" she screamed over and over.

There was a quiet knock on the door. "Hermione, are you in there? Ginny said she saw you run up here." It was Harry.

Hermione sniffled. "How'd you get up the stairs? There's that anti-boy jinx."

Harry opened the door, to reveal that he was sitting on his Firebolt. "Flew. Brooms hadn't been invented when Hogwarts was built." He dismounted and jumped into the room, making sure not to touch the stairs. He sat down next to Hermione. "What's the matter?"

Hermione sat up, aware that she must look a sight. Her face was red and swollen, snot was dripping out of her nose, and her hair was bushier than ever. She wiped an impatient hand under her nose, ignoring Harry's mutter of "You know, I've got a tissue if you need it."

She wrapped her arms around her legs. "I-I thought that Ron – that he might – I mean…" She started crying again, burying her head in her knees.

Harry put an arm around her shoulder. "He does, Hermione, I know he does. He just – he's confused."

Hermione looked up at him. "What do you mean?"

He sighed. "Well, you've been friends for six years now, right? He's never really noticed Lavender, but he certainly notices you. But Lavender's fancied him since the beginning of the year, and you… well, I guess you've fancied him since about third year, am I right?"

Hermione nodded, not trusting her voice. "You know Ron," Harry continued. "He's always – well, he never really thinks much of himself, does he? So when Lavender turns up, and she thinks he's funny and handsome, and – no offence, Hermione – she's quite pretty, in a bland sort of way, it's no wonder he decides to go out with her. I don't think he even really _likes_ her that much, but, well, she's good snogging practice."

Hermione laughed a bit, but soon dissolved into tears again. "But w-why was he so cross with me, even before they started going out?"

Harry patted her on the shoulder awkwardly. "He was pissed off because you snogged Victor Krum at the Yule Ball."

Hermione sat bolt upright. "But that was two years ago! Why get upset about that now?"

Harry shrugged. "Don't ask me."

Hermione turned away from him. "Look, Harry, I don't really feel like talking. D'you mind going back down to the party or something?"

Harry sighed. "Sure. But, Hermione–"

She cut him off. "Please, Harry, just – go away."

He patted her on the shoulder and seemed to be about to leave when something caught his eye. He clambered over Hermione and sat on Ginny's bed, stroking a ragged-looking teddy bear that was sitting on her pillow. Hermione turned around and looked at him. "For God's sake, Harry, it's obvious you fancy her."

He stared at her. "No, I don't!" he said, his voice cracking slightly. He went beetroot. "I just – I mean…"

Hermione turned over again. "Good night, Harry."

He smoothed out the blankets on Ginny's bed, so it wouldn't be obvious that anyone had sat there. "Good night, Hermione." He walked out, with a last worried look at her.

Hermione buried her head in her pillow again, but this time she didn't cry. The only thing that filled her head was the image of Ron kissing Lavender. She tried to overpower that thought with calculations from her Ancient Runes classes that week, but even that didn't work – she could still see one of Lavender's hands stroking Ron's hair, her arm around his neck, one of his arms tightly around her waist, the other around _her_ neck, and all through it, their lips touching, and Hermione held her pillow like an anchor when the picture stayed in her head as stubbornly as a Spice Girls song (she'd heard one that summer before she'd gone to Ron's, and she'd had it stuck in her head for a good two weeks).

She wished she'd got in first. Maybe if he hadn't found out that she'd kissed Victor, it would be her with him down there in that abandoned classroom, lips pressed to his, and as that new image filled her head, she cried for what she'd lost without ever having gained.


	7. The Seventh Time

_Author's Note: Hi guys! Sorry this took so long, and thanks to all my reviewers! By the way, I wrote this instead of studying for my Biology test - so, if I fail, I'm blaming you. :P_

The seventh time Hermione wanted to snog Ron senseless was when he came back to them – came back to _her_ – in what should have been her seventh year.

She'd been sleeping, for once, but she wasn't sleeping peacefully. No – she was dreaming, dreaming of Ron and Harry and their families.

They were all in the Gryffindor common room. Lily and James were glaring at her, repeating endlessly, "The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death."

Ron was standing in a corner, his head turned away.

Ginny was screaming at her, "It's all your fault! It's all your fault!"

Harry went to Ginny and took her arm. "She's right, Hermione, it's all your fault." He scowled at her and walked to his parents.

Molly shook Hermione's shoulder. "Don't you know what you've done?" The Weasleys surrounded her, screaming, "It's your fault, all your fault!" The sound rose until she couldn't hear any thing except their screaming and the Potter's muttering of, "The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death."

"_STOP_!" she screamed, and they dissolved into nothingness, leaving her and Ron alone. She walked up to him, but he didn't get any closer, and as the walls faded away, she realised that they were stranded in a forest.

"Ron!" she screamed, and he looked up and saw her. But his face, she realised with shock, showed nothing but fury and hatred, and he ran from her, yelling, "It's your fault!"

"What's all my fault?" Hermione asked quietly, and although Ron wasn't anywhere near her, his voice came whispering from the forest around, "Everything." Then there was no sound, and the sudden realization that Ron was in terrible danger. She ran faster than she thought possible, but not fast enough. He was still running, faster than she could, and beyond him, an abyss yawned.

"Ron!" she screamed. "Ron, come back!" But he didn't listen, and kept running.

Then he fell, shrieking with terror, and Hermione ran to the very edge of the precipice, where she saw his body lying broken on the rocks below. She tried to scream his name, to wake him up – _he's not dead, he can't be dead _– but her mouth seemed bound shut, and her feet stuck to the ground.

She heard Harry's voice, calling her name, but she didn't even turn around, too horribly transfixed by the sight of Ron lying dead.

Hermione heard him calling again, and again and again, more urgently each time, and when she at last turned around to see what was going on, the dream faded and the interior of the tent materialised.

She sat up quickly, pushing her thick hair out of her eyes. "What's wrong? Harry? Are you all right?"

Harry was smiling at her, so widely it seemed his cheeks would split apart. "I'm OK, everything's fine. More than fine. I'm great. There's someone here."

She refused to let herself hope it was Ron. "What do you mean? Who –?" She looked around, searching for someone else's face, and saw Ron, holding a sword Ron, who was grinning sheepishly, in sharp contrast to the hatred in her dream. Ron, who was soaking wet and dripping water onto the carpet. Ron.

She walked across the tent, barely noticing her feet moving, and stared up at him. Harry seemed almost to have disappeared, and it was like it was just her and Ron alone again.

She stood in front of him, staring at his weak smile and his half-raised arms, and wanted to kiss him; to drag him to her bunk and have her wicked way with him. She wanted to hurt him; to hurt him like he'd hurt her by leaving. She wanted to love him, hate him, kiss him, kill him…

She felt as though she stood there for a moment and for eternity, summing up her choices and wondering what she should do. She couldn't make a conscious decision, and – as Ron's smile went from hopeful to confused – she punched him with all the force of weeks of anger and misery and love.

"You – complete – _arse _– Ronald – Weasley!"

He backed away, protesting, but she was almost deaf to his words. She kept punching, and words flew from her mouth, although she barely knew what she said. "You – crawl – back – here – after – weeks – and – weeks – oh, _where's my wand_?" She saw Harry, as though through fogged glass, standing in a corner and holding it. She went to wrestle it from his grip, although she was too angry to cast a spell – all she wanted to do was hold her wand, to feel the smooth wood in her palm and know that she could cast a spell if she wanted. But Harry stepped back and yelled, "_Protego_!" and Hermione was pushed to the ground by the force of the spell.

"Hermione, calm –!"

Hermione interrupted him with a scream. "I will not calm down! Give me back my wand! _Give it back to me_!" She advanced on him, only the invisible shield preventing her from physically wrestling it from his grip.

Harry, looking quite scared, nevertheless said, "Hermione, will you please –"

Hermione was too angry to listen to him. "Don't you dare tell me what to do, Harry Potter! Don't you dare! Give it back now!" She pointed at Ron, her fingertip pressing against the glass-hard spell. "And YOU!"

Ron backed away several steps, babbling half-formed excuses and apologies.

"I came running after you! I called you! I begged you to come back!" She half-meant when he'd run from her in the dream, almost confusing dreams and life for a second.

Ron seemed on the verge of tears. "I know, Hermione, I'm sorry, I'm really –"

"Oh, you're _sorry_!" Hermione laughed, a high-pitched cackle of anger rather than amusement. "You come back after weeks – _weeks _– and you think it's all going to be all right if you just say _sorry_?"

Ron blinked and glared at her. "Well, what else can I say?" he yelled.

"Oh, I don't know!" yelled Hermione, with as much sarcasm as she could muster. "Rack your brains, Ron, that should only take a couple of seconds –" She knew she was being meaninglessly cruel now, but she wanted – _needed _– to make him hurt as much as she'd hurt when he'd left.

"Hermione, he just saved my – " started Harry, but Hermione didn't want to listen to him.

"I don't care!" she shrieked. "I don't care what he's done! Weeks and weeks, we could have been _dead _for all he knew –!"

Ron approached, his ears and face a brilliant scarlet. "I knew you weren't dead!" he yelled, cutting Hermione off completely. "Harry's all over the _Prophet_, all over the radio, they're looking for you everywhere, all these rumours and mental stories, I knew I'd hear straight off if you were dead. You don't know what it's been like –"

"What it's been like for _you_?" Her voice was going higher and higher with every word, she knew, and she was barely able to speak.

"I wanted to come back the minute I'd Disapparated, but I walked straight into a gang of Snatchers, Hermione, and I couldn't go anywhere!"

Hermione sat down, crossing her legs and arms, looking at the floor and only half-listening to Ron and Harry's conversation. A fierce argument was going on inside her own head.

_You love him!_

_But he left me._

_What does that matter?_

_Of course it matters! Are you out of your mind?_

_But you love him._

_Of course I bloody love him, but this is about principles, and – and friendship, and loyalty, not love at all._

_Everything's about love. You love him, that's all that matters._

She stopped thinking and went back to listening to Harry and Ron's conversation. Ron was talking about getting in a fight with the Snatchers. "…grabbed his wand, Disarmed the bloke holding mine and Disapparated. I didn't do it so well, Splinched myself again –" He raised his right hand, showing two missing fingernails.

Hermione raised her eyebrows. _Missing fingernails! We almost DIED. Missing effing fingernails, and he thinks that's bad!_

Hermione realised Ron had stopped talking. "Gosh, what a gripping story," she said, haughtily. "You must have been simply terrified. Meanwhile, we went to Godric's Hollow and, let's think, what happened there, Harry? Oh yes, You-Know-Who's snake turned up, it nearly killed both of us and then You-Know-Who himself arrived and missed us by about a second." She stuck her nose in the air, noting with pleasure Ron's dumfounded expression.

"What?" he said, but Hermione continued, narrowing her eyes at him.

"Imagine losing fingernails, Harry! That really puts our sufferings into perspective, doesn't it?"

Harry looked at her for the first time in a while. "Hermione," he said quietly. "Ron just saved my life."

His words sent a joyful glow through her, although she didn't show it. _Maybe he does still care about us_, she thought. Then she mentally shook that thought away. She was still angry with him; still wanted to make him pay.

"One thing I would like to know, though," she said, looking at the wall above Ron. "How exactly did you find us tonight? Once we know, we'll be able to make sure we're not visited by anyone else we don't want to see."

Ron glared at her, and Hermione noticed with satisfaction the reaction her words had caused.

He pulled the Deluminator out of his pocket. "This?"

Hermione was confused enough that she stopped scowling. "The Deluminator?"

"It doesn't just turn the lights on and off," he explained. "I don't know how it works or why it happened then and not any other time, because I've been wanting to come back ever since I left. But I was listening to the radio, really early on Christmas morning, and I heard – I heard you."

_What?_ wondered Hermione. "You heard me on the radio?"

"No, I heard you coming out of my pocket." For a moment, Hermione thought he was being sarcastic, until she looked at his face and realised that he was completely serious. "Your voice," he said, holding out the Deluminator, "came out of this."

"And what exactly did I say?"

"My name. 'Ron'. And you said… something about a wand…"

Hermione flushed. She remembered the exact time she'd said that – it was the first time that either of them had said Ron's name aloud since he'd left, She remembered all too well the heady sense of delight she'd felt when she'd said his name, even though she was so upset about Harry's wand being broken. She remembered that she had cried, not only about Harry's strange illness and his broken wand, but because she'd finally realised that she was completely, truly, madly in love with Ron.

Ron had barely seemed to notice her change in colour. "So I took it out," he said, looking at the Deluminator, "and it didn't seem different or anything, but I was sure I'd heard you. So I clicked it. And the light went out in my room, but another light appeared right outside the window." He raised his hand, pointing at something that only he could see. "It was a ball of light, kind of pulsing, and bluish, like that light you get around a Portkey, you know?"

"Yeah," said Hermione, intrigued.

"I knew this was it. I grabbed my stuff and packed it, then I put on my rucksack and went out into the garden. This little ball of light was hovering there, waiting for me, and when I came out it bobbed along a bit and I followed it behind the shed and then… well, it went inside me."

"What?" asked Harry, saying exactly what Hermione was wondering.

"It sort of floated towards me, right to my chest," Ron said, illustrating the movement with his finger, "and then – it just went straight through." He touched the middle of his chest, near his heart. "It was here. I could feel it, it was hot. And once it was inside me I knew what I was supposed to do, I knew it would take me where I needed to go. So I Disapparated and came out on the side of a hill. There was snow everywhere…"

Harry interrupted. "We were there. We spent two nights there, and the second night I kept thinking I could hear someone moving around in the dark and calling out!"

"Yeah, well, that would be me," said Ron with a half-laugh. "Your protective spells work, anyway, because I couldn't see you and I couldn't hear you. I was sure you were around, though, so in the end I got in my sleeping bad and waited for one of you to appear. I thought you'd have to show yourselves when you packed up the tent."

"No, actually," said Hermione, no longer so angry. "We've been Disapparating under the Invisibility Cloak as an extra precaution. And we left really early, because, as Harry said, we'd heard somebody blundering around."

"Well, I stayed on that hill all day. I kept hoping you'd appear. But when it started to get dark I knew I must have missed you, so I clicked the Deluminator again, the blue light came out and went inside me, and I Disapparated and arrived here, in these woods. I still couldn't see you, so I just had to hope one of you would show yourselves in the end – and Harry did. Well, I saw the doe first, obviously."  
"You saw the what?" Hermione was both incredibly confused and relieved. He'd tried to find them, he really had, maybe he really did care.

The two of them started to explain what had happened, haltingly at first. Hermione uncrossed her arms and legs to get the blood flowing, and listened, fascinated.

"But it must have been a Patronus!" she exclaimed at a break in the story. "Couldn't you see who was casting it? Didn't you see anyone? And it led you to the sword! I can't believe this! Then what happened?"

Ron continued, explaining how he'd watched Harry jump into the pool and waited for him to resurface. "I got kind of scared when he didn't come up after a few seconds, so I went to the very edge and saw him trying to pull the Horcrux from his neck, 'cos it was choking him, see?" Harry rubbed his neck, where, Hermione saw, a purple imprint of the chain was left. "So I jumped in and pulled him out, and then when he was out I looked in the water to see what he wanted so badly, and saw the sword, so I jumped back in and got that too. And then Harry said that I should destroy the Horcrux, and he asked the locket to open, using Parseltongue, and –"

He faltered, and Harry jumped in, as though trying to protect Ron – or Hermione – from an important truth. "– and Ron stabbed it with the sword."

"And… and it went? Just like that?" Hermione was whispering, although she wasn't sure why.

"Well, it – it screamed," said Harry, half-looking at Ron. "Here." He threw the locket to her and she examined it, looking over its punctured windows. She noticed, with a flush of something akin to pleasure, that Ron was watching her looking at the locket.

Harry said something about a wand, and Ron turned away from her, opening his rucksack. Hermione, finished with the locket, stood up and Ron half jumped back, holding a short, dark wand in his hand. He looked apprehensive, although Hermione wasn't sure why. Putting the destroyed Horcrux in her bag, she climbed back into her bed and rolled over, staring at the wall so that Ron and Harry wouldn't notice that she was crying.

Oh, she loved him, she loved him, and she didn't know whether she was joyful or devastated about that.

"About the best you could hope for, I think," she heard Harry murmur.

"Yeah," replied Ron. "Could've been worse. Remember those birds she set on me?"

Hermione almost laughed through her tears. "I still haven't ruled it out," she said.

She felt, rather than saw, Ron smiling as he took his pyjamas from his rucksack, and she smiled too.


End file.
